Page 76 of Heartbreaker
There’s a small beat of silence before she opens her eyes, tears welling as she looks straight at me. “I don’t love you.” Savannah shrugs. “I can’t.”
A harsh sting immediately floods my vision, and nausea claws at my throat, but I refuse to let the emotion overtake me. I know she doesn’t mean it—she can’t mean it—but she said it. She said what I needed to hear to let her go, and that’s what I’m going to do.
“You don’t love me? Fine, then get out.”
Savannah gasps. Her mask falls, deepening the crack in my heart. Normally, I’d reach out and pull her into my arms, tell her everything will be okay. We’ll make it through whatever is going on.
Not this time.
I stand here, arms glued to my sides, and watch as she takes a shaky breath and picks up the box she’d been carrying. With one final glance, she walks away.
The front door slams moments later, and my entire being jolts as if struck by lightning. Whether it’s from the impact or the adrenaline pumping through my veins, I can’t say. Everything in me screams to run after her. To stop her. To not let her leave, not like this, not at all…This is not how our story ends.
It’s better than coming home to an empty house.
How could she pick up and leave as if the last four and a half years meant nothing?
Hell, longer than that.
The thought brings a wave of anger over me. How could she do this? How could I?
Part of me hopes—prays—that I’ll hear the door open. That she’ll walk back in, saying she didn’t mean it, saying she still loves me. But a bigger part of me knows she won’t.
Savannah was right. Iwascontrolling everything—the man behind the curtain of our entire relationship—right up until the very end.
I pick up the nearest object—a picture frame with a photo of us from a trip to Asheville two years ago—and throw it at the wall. The glass shatters into pieces. The frame splits apart at the seams. Should I have done it? No, but it was the only way I could think to relieve the mounting pressure building inside of me before I explode.
One hundred and ten. That’s how many days it’s been since I told John I didn’t love him. One hundred and nine since I showed up on my parents’ lawn, asking if I could stay for a while. One hundred and eight since Mamá begged me to know what happened, and I lied. Ninety-five since I told Raelynn the truth. And eighty-five since the last time I almost got on a plane and flew home to him. One hundred and ten days of withdrawals and waking up to reach across the bed for someone who isn’t there. One hundred and ten days without him, and each one is just as hard as the last.
I’ve been occupying one of the bedrooms in the guest house since I moved back to the farm. I could have easily taken up residence in my old bedroom in the main house, but I knew the guest house would give me more of the privacy I needed. In hindsight, I could’ve just gotten my own apartment, a short-term thing, but I wasn’t sure exactly how long this was going to last. Besides, when I was packing everything up, calling Crew and deciding to come home to Willow Pond Farm felt like the safe choice.
Crew moved out of the guest house almost two years ago after our parents gifted him a few acres on the outskirts of the ranch, where he built a small bungalow. He told me last Thanksgiving that he’d already started working on the plans for the house he wanted to build for Amara. But Nash still lives in the other room, and our schedules vary enough that it’s like having my own place most of the time.
I’ve kept myself busy. Every morning, I get up with Papá and Crew. I’ve been helping Mamá put together recipes and a business plan for the restaurant she wants to open. I’ve spent more time with Cassandra and Kingsley than I have in years. But it’s still not enough to take my mind completely off things. I miss him. I miss my life. I miss EWE and the ring. Hell, I even kind of miss Harper’s annoying ass. When she didn’t tag along with Wolf for the annual New Year’s trip, I found myself both relieved and disappointed (the others were just relieved).
My triceps quake as I lower the barbell to my chest, hovering for just a second before forcing it back up. This is my second time in the gym today; the three straight days of rain have made it nearly impossible to go for a run outside, but it’s supposed to clear up tomorrow. So, maybe I’ll get some fresh air without the added farm scents.
A low, continuous whirr catches my attention. What the hell? That’s the third call in two minutes.Shit, that’s the third call in two minutes. What time is it?
I re-rack my weights, sitting straight up from the flat bench to read the clock on the wall:10:13 p.m.That’s 11:13 p.m. Charlotte time.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit, shit.
When Rae called earlier, she reminded me that tonight was Elite Wrestling Entertainment’s March premiere event: Mayhem. She had a triple-threat tables match versusKerrigan TateandRoxanne. Bennett would be facingEgo Wandellin a singles match to end their four-month-long feud beforeNoeha Nakoawould interfere to challengeWolf Bennett’s honor, something “The Gladiator” hates. She’s kept me updated on what the two of them have been doing. Occasionally, Brody, but neverhim. Sometimes, she slips—they all do—and starts to tell me about him, but she always catches herself.
Despite the name of the event, though, there shouldn’t have been anything too crazy going on at the show.
A call right now is too late for it to be about Raelynn or Bennett, and Brody didn’t have a match tonight, which means…My heart sinks. There’s only one person it could be about.
The buzzing ceases, only to start again almost immediately. I swipe my phone from the floor and answer without looking. “What happened?”
“What took you so long?” My best friend sounds out of breath, like she’s either just run a marathon or is pacing the length of the bus she shares with Brody.
“Raelynn—”
“Sav, it’s not good.”
